SPIRIT ON THE SAIL
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Chapter Two
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ChubascoThe old familiar planks of the
dock bounce and creak under foot as if rejoicing at the reunion of old friends. The recognition of a few timbers I personally replaced brings a smile to my face. This runway was my worksite, following a couple years internship at the customer counter here at Seaforth Boat Rentals.
This homecoming rouses another old acquaintance, the Great Blue Heron, who roosts here at night. She squawks a fleeting salutation, leans over the decking, drops out of sight in hidden flight behind the rows boats, finally rising into view beyond the stately princess I am to escort to her new thrown at Harbour Island in San Diego Bay.
Drawing closer, I recognize her. She is my favorite charter companion. "Chubasco" is her name. A long cord of multicolored International Code Flags gracefully wave from low, near her stern, rise all the way to the head of her 48-foot mast. Cradled among the smaller vessels, she is a standout. Unwilling to spoil her regal appearance, I immediately decide not to strike the flags until we are at sea. As her skipper, I approve her ostentatious display. Besides, at this hour few if any admirers will care that it is actually improper to display code flags while underway.
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When Catalina designed this C320 series, they compromised some performance to provide a large cockpit area and spacious cabin. That is why her freeboard (height above water) rises a little taller than most and her beam (width) swells further aft than some. Her cabin is so handsomely furnished that Seaforth holds some of its more important meetings there. Hardwoods, sleek fiberglass accents, with inviting dining saloon fabrics give her the feel of a small luxury suite. Sleeping up to seven, she sports two private sleeping quarters with perfectly paired head and galley...all the comforts of home.
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With all that, her designers still kept her classic good looks. She seems to be leaning forward as if anticipating our launch. Sharing her enthusiasm, I jump aboard and whisper, “Are you ready, Chubasco?” Considering our united destiny, it is only right to address a vessel by name. A boat and her crew enter a union of shared purpose.
This is not just a floating contraption that I bend to my will. We work together, in harmony with the sea, hopefully reaching a common destination.
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Getting Under Way
By the time I go through a memorized checklist we have lost another thirty minutes. Glancing at her standing rigging and the string of code flags once more, I determine we are ready. If we hope to beat the forecasted storm we cannot take time to reef the sails here at the dock. (Reefing is the process of shortening the sails so less square footage will be presented to a strong wind.) Normally, I reef before launching, but the winds will still be light by the time we reach the ocean, so I'll see to it while underway.
When Catalina designed this C320 series, they compromised some performance to provide a large cockpit area and spacious cabin. That is why her freeboard (height above water) rises a little taller than most and her beam (width) swells further aft than some. Her cabin is so handsomely furnished that Seaforth holds some of its more important meetings there. Hardwoods, sleek fiberglass accents, with inviting dining saloon fabrics give her the feel of a small luxury suite. Sleeping up to seven, she sports two private sleeping quarters with perfectly paired head and galley...all the comforts of home.
.
With all that, her designers still kept her classic good looks. She seems to be leaning forward as if anticipating our launch. Sharing her enthusiasm, I jump aboard and whisper, “Are you ready, Chubasco?” Considering our united destiny, it is only right to address a vessel by name. A boat and her crew enter a union of shared purpose.
This is not just a floating contraption that I bend to my will. We work together, in harmony with the sea, hopefully reaching a common destination.
.
Getting Under Way
By the time I go through a memorized checklist we have lost another thirty minutes. Glancing at her standing rigging and the string of code flags once more, I determine we are ready. If we hope to beat the forecasted storm we cannot take time to reef the sails here at the dock. (Reefing is the process of shortening the sails so less square footage will be presented to a strong wind.) Normally, I reef before launching, but the winds will still be light by the time we reach the ocean, so I'll see to it while underway.
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Seeking confirmation for my desision I confer with Chubasco, “Chubby, is that OK with you, sweetheart?” Nodding her approval in the gentle waves, the decision is unanimous. Incidentally, I know her very well and she's not offended by the nickname “Chubby,” even though, it is not that popular with terrestrial females. After all, this is not our first date. Not only have Chubasco and I conducted many charters together, we even took a little vacation trip to Catalina Island, a while back. We were both much younger then and have each experienced numerous other relationships since. Nonetheless, there has never been any jealousy between us. We maintain an honest open relationship, with the understanding that both, she and I have professional obligations that make exclusivity impossible.
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Jumping back on the dock I undo her bowline releasing her pretty nose from the dock, and secure it onboard to her lifeline. Pinned, as she is, between two other vessels, fore and aft, I give her a little shove to clear the boat ahead. Undoing the stern line, I hoist myself aboard before she leaves without me. A short burst from the right-handed propeller, kicks us free of the dock to starboard, and we are on our way. It is 8:36 am.
Seeking confirmation for my desision I confer with Chubasco, “Chubby, is that OK with you, sweetheart?” Nodding her approval in the gentle waves, the decision is unanimous. Incidentally, I know her very well and she's not offended by the nickname “Chubby,” even though, it is not that popular with terrestrial females. After all, this is not our first date. Not only have Chubasco and I conducted many charters together, we even took a little vacation trip to Catalina Island, a while back. We were both much younger then and have each experienced numerous other relationships since. Nonetheless, there has never been any jealousy between us. We maintain an honest open relationship, with the understanding that both, she and I have professional obligations that make exclusivity impossible.
.
Jumping back on the dock I undo her bowline releasing her pretty nose from the dock, and secure it onboard to her lifeline. Pinned, as she is, between two other vessels, fore and aft, I give her a little shove to clear the boat ahead. Undoing the stern line, I hoist myself aboard before she leaves without me. A short burst from the right-handed propeller, kicks us free of the dock to starboard, and we are on our way. It is 8:36 am.
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We are casting off a little later than I hoped, so I reassure Chubby, “Not too bad, Girl.”
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Exiting Mission Bay’s Quivera Basin, the incoming tide flexes its most determined opposition at the narrow mouth of the basin. Unimpressed, the healthy little Yammar diesel propels us effortlessly into the channel, passed the “No Wake” buoys, each fringed in long ribbons of seaweed, and we're on to the ocean.
Proud Chubasco seems embarrassed, motoring down the channel. Submitting to mechanical propulsion is disgraceful enough, but enduring the noxious exhaust fumes magnifies the indignity. Realistically, if we were under sail now: head to wind, and against the current, we would be slowly tacking a zigzag path out the mile long channel. To encourage her, I whisper respectfully, “This humiliation will last only a little longer. Besides, just think of how magnificent you look with your fluttering International Code Flags.”
We are casting off a little later than I hoped, so I reassure Chubby, “Not too bad, Girl.”
.
Exiting Mission Bay’s Quivera Basin, the incoming tide flexes its most determined opposition at the narrow mouth of the basin. Unimpressed, the healthy little Yammar diesel propels us effortlessly into the channel, passed the “No Wake” buoys, each fringed in long ribbons of seaweed, and we're on to the ocean.
Proud Chubasco seems embarrassed, motoring down the channel. Submitting to mechanical propulsion is disgraceful enough, but enduring the noxious exhaust fumes magnifies the indignity. Realistically, if we were under sail now: head to wind, and against the current, we would be slowly tacking a zigzag path out the mile long channel. To encourage her, I whisper respectfully, “This humiliation will last only a little longer. Besides, just think of how magnificent you look with your fluttering International Code Flags.”
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Finally, we brake onto the ocean, where sea and bay collide in full orchestration. The crashing waves noisily trumpet foam high above the rocks. Charging out upon the rising and falling Pacific, always makes me feel as small as a Lilliputiann. Unlike the tiny people in Gulliver's Travels, we seem to be climbing onto the back of a monstrous sleeping dragon. With each inhale we are heaved high on an incoming swell, then drop again with the following exhale.
Finally, we brake onto the ocean, where sea and bay collide in full orchestration. The crashing waves noisily trumpet foam high above the rocks. Charging out upon the rising and falling Pacific, always makes me feel as small as a Lilliputiann. Unlike the tiny people in Gulliver's Travels, we seem to be climbing onto the back of a monstrous sleeping dragon. With each inhale we are heaved high on an incoming swell, then drop again with the following exhale.
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Now that we are out here, it appears that an unwelcomed atmospheric feather has tickled the beast awake much earlier than anticipated. The wavelets of this morning’s early gentle breezes are pinching-up into scattered whitecaps. Abruptly, more numerous waves spout up, like inflamed goosebumps across the giant’s back.
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Not waiting for Chubasco’s approval, I am already in motion, “I’d better reef the sails immediately before unfurling them, because this wind is rapidly climbing above moderate.” (A moderate breeze is up to 16 knots or so.) The sudden change, while exhilarating, has no effect on my naive certainty that this is going to be a piece of cake.
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Nevertheless, my anticipated leisurely contemplated proof of God's existence is on standby, for now. Instead, I need the reality of an intervening God to do what I should have done at the dock. Perhaps, He will exert the care promised in the old saying, “God watches over babes and fools.” Because right now, I seem to fit into one of those two categories.
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